Optometrical Adjustments
by flecksofpoppy
Summary: After an evening out, Ronald gets some advice on the aesthetics of spectacles. Written for the Reaper Kink Meme.


Hokay… so because I am sort of digging Alan/Ronald right now, I decided to de-anon and own up to this fill I wrote for the Reaper Kink Meme. The OP requested Alan/Ronald dubcon, and I obliged. But now I sort of want to develop this because it contains a shit ton of my own head canon and it's intended to be funny. And this is pretty light fare. But yeah.

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**Optometrical Adjustments**

Ronald's average night out has always consisted of a pint, a laugh, and a girl on his arm. But since meeting Alan Humphries — his first friend his own age since transferring to the London dispatch as a junior — he's had a more diverse array of pub companion.

Spectacles is a right laugh. They always have an opinion, they're always complimentary, and every time Ronald is in their company, he feels quite well about himself by the time the night is over.

Tonight though, due to a foiled date on his part and a more-pissed-than-usual evening for Alan, they've ended up back at Alan's flat without much of a plan. There may have been some sort of discussion of wine or other libation, but now they're here in the dark flat.

They _tumble_ onto Alan's bed together, laughing like schoolboys.

"Oi!" Ronald yelps as Alan's elbow hits him right in the rib. "Keep your limbs to yourself, Humphries."

Alan lets out a silly, bubbly type of laughter and fumbles for the light. Ronald also fumbles for the light, and they end up in a tangle of limbs, climbing over each other haphazardly until giving up.

"What kind of bed is this, anyway?" Ronald asks skeptically, turning his head to look at Alan in the dark. "Narrow enough for barely one person, much less two."

Alan looks back at him, and Ronald can just make out his features — they're very fine, but Alan looks so uncharacteristically giddy, he ends up looking ridiculous.

"Wot you tryin' to say, _Knox_?" Alan slurs, doing a poor imitation of Ronald's accent. "You want a bigger bed, _innit?_"

"That's bloody terrible, Humphries."

"I think it's a rather good impression, actually," Alan sniffs, and then bursts out laughing again.

"Where's the light?"

"It's where it always is."

"That's not helpful."

Alan grumbles and reaches for the light; the crash of something very breakable smashing into pieces on the floor finally stops him from laughing.

That is, until Ronald and him look at each other in the dark in shock, and then burst out laughing together.

"Not the way you planned to end an evening, I suppose," Alan finally wheezes in between the laughter.

"No, not particularly," Ronald admits, inhaling to catch his breath and wiping the tears from his eyes. "Usually, I go back to mine and have a bit of a nip, then get down to things."

"Down to things?" Alan asks, leaning back to rest his head in a hand. "It's that simple?"

"Well, of course," Ronald says, shrugging. "What else would happen?"

Alan purses his lips, and now he looks thoughtful. At least from what Ronald can make out in the dark.

"I don't know," he says, raising his eyebrows.

"Maybe with a new pair of spectacles," Ronald says enthusiastically, grinning, "I won't even have to spend so much time at the pub beforehand! Maybe we can just get down to—"

Alan laughs, shaking his head.

"What?" Ronald blurts out, sounding suspiciously very similar to Alan's previous impression.

"You're not getting any new bloody frames unless you get down to things with someone in that department," Alan smirks, raising an eyebrow.

"Why would I do that, then?"

"Ronald," Alan says, leveling him with a sympathetic gaze, "you're really… you didn't…"

Ronald just stares blankly. Then again… there was more commentary on his hair that he was used to, and they did talk an awful lot about the debate over spectacle aesthetics, and… there was that slip of that one bloke's hand… numerous times…

"Oh, bloody hell," Ronald blurts out.

Alan is laughing by himself now, and Ronald just stares as his face heats.

"They're rather polite company, though," Alan says, shrugging.

Ronald still just stares, and then asks awkwardly, "Are you interested in the aesthetics of Spectacles as well then?"

"Well," he says tartly, but there's laughter lingering in his voice, "I'm not interested in the aesthetics of General Affairs, if that answers your question."

He slides forward suddenly, and Ronald's eyes widen in the dark.

"However," he says softly, "I can certainly assist you in obtaining a new pair of spectacles."

Ronald's first instinct is to pull away, broken lamp be damned, and jump up; but it's rather difficult with the way that Alan's hand has so deftly slid inside his shirt to innocently caress his ribs.

"I… I suppose I'm quite pleased with the ones—" Ronald interrupts his own nervous speech with a gasp as he feels Alan's lips against his neck.

Before he can even keep track of what's happening, his tie is undone, his shirt is unbuttoned, and his glasses are on the bedside table. And he's flat on his back on the bed, moaning as Alan kisses down his chest through his shirt.

"No," he groans, not doing much to back up his statement, "Humphries, this isn't… I don't…"

"Just close your eyes," Alan suggests, and Ronald can't help but do just that as he feels the heat of Alan's mouth against his (admittedly stiffening) cock through his trousers.

His hips buck, and Alan holds him in place.

This is _Humphries_… Alan… and his mouth _should not_ be between Ronald's legs; his hands should not be touching him there; just, in general, this is—

"Oh _bugger_, Alan," Ronald groans despite himself. "I don't care for the aesthetics of spectacles, though."

Alan doesn't seem to care much for this _point_, because Ronald's trousers are suddenly sliding down his thighs; he doesn't put up much of a fight to stop them either.

Ronald's legs are pushed apart shamelessly, and then Alan's hot, wet mouth is on his cock, and it all becomes very real and corporeal.

The narrow bed not fit for two people is squeaking rather obscenely as Alan bobs his head, and the thrust of Ronald's hips up into that welcoming, skilled mouth makes him wonder if he's really been interested in Spectacles this entire time.

Before he can make up his mind though, Alan is next to him again; he reaches out shamelessly to rub at Ronald's nipples, which makes him gasp and feel like a bloody virgin, and then slide fingers over his lips.

"Open," he says rather sweetly, all things considered, and Ronald obeys without thinking.

And then Alan's fingers are in his mouth, rubbing against his tongue and cheeks; he makes a surprised, choked sound, and Alan gives him a reassuring kiss against his temple.

"Go on, then," he says softly, "make them nice and slick."

Ronald doesn't know what else to do except run his tongue along Alan's fingers and close his eyes; they're delicate and fine, much like Alan himself, and it's not as if he's found himself noticing things like that, and—

There's no more time for thoughts as Alan pulls his fingers out and rolls Ronald onto his side; he settles behind, still wearing clothes, and trails his fingers along a hip lightly.

It occurs to Ronald right then that he's only wearing an unbuttoned shirt, and perhaps this isn't the best choice he's ever made. But when did he make a choice?

This seems relevant, until Alan pushes his fingers down, pulls his leg up with a free hand, and rubs at his entrance.

Ronald, more or less, lets out a rather high-pitched cry of shock. He fights the urge to blush everywhere as Alan just keeps prodding there, teasing and rubbing, not relenting whatsoever, and apparently unmoved by the startled sound.

"Is this what you _enjoy?_" he sputters breathlessly. Much to his chagrin, Alan just laughs quietly.

"Yes," he says simply. There's no need to argue the point, given that Ronald hasn't protested yet. "And this," he adds, and then pushes the tip of his finger into Ronald very carefully.

Ronald shudders and closes his eyes, but he doesn't say anything else. The finger goes deeper; it burns slightly, but also feels rather uncannily satisfying.

Alan moans, and Ronald stiffens.

"That feels nice," Alan whispers against his neck, kissing the back of his shoulder. "Does that hurt?"

"No," Ronald grits out, screwing his eyes shut.

Alan's fingers retreat, and Ronald exhales. He hears him spitting, and then the fingers are back, much more slick, and they slide in more easily.

His breath catches as Alan hits on something inside of him; he can't help it, and his back arches dramatically.

Ronald's voice jumps and he bites out Alan's name, his body shaking, and he starts to desperately stroke his own cock.

No, he is not getting off to this. To _Alan_… fucking him with a few fingers…

This is not happening.

The bed is vibrating with screeches and all arguments are off; Ronald is moaning like a bloody cat in heat and Alan is shagging him with only his fingers.

And then Ronald comes so hard he sees stars in the dark, and Alan comes too. Ronald hasn't even realized he's been tossing off at the same time until he feels something wet hit the back of his thighs.

He's not sure whether or not this is something of which to be proud or ashamed.

Ronald tries to regain his composure, his body still humming with the aftershocks of orgasm, the bed quiet, and he bites his lip as Alan sighs happily.

"Well, then," he says, pulling away to sit up, "I suppose now you know what's required to acquire a new pair of frames. Best of luck."

Ronald gets dressed as best he can, takes his glasses from the nightstand table, and blinks into the dark with the sound of broken lamp crunching under his shoes.

Maybe the ones he has aren't so bad; or maybe, he might like to work his way toward a new pair.

Maybe he'll ask Alan for advice over a pint tomorrow.


End file.
